Jeb and I lived out our life in Pleasance, with Mom and Dad visiting often when they weren’t in London with the Skeffingtons.
I’ll list no other details: how many children and grandchildren, the nieces and nephews given to us by Corbin and Jenara, how old Jeb was when he died. All I’ll say is that our mortal life together was everything and more than I’d hoped. Even when death claimed my family members—one by one—there was happiness in its wake, a wash of treasured memories and laughter hanging like priceless art on the walls of my heart.
I made a name for myself with my mosaics, while Jeb was renowned for marble maze toys so intricate and ingeniously crafted they were compared to Rube Goldberg designs. Although the true legacy he left for our children and grandchildren wasn’t the wealth or awards he obtained with his mechanical prowess. It was his gentleness, sense of humor, and unconditional love.
Mom and I wanted our descendants to have the normal life we never did, and I was able to silence the bugs and flowers in their ears simply by commanding it—a perk of my crown-magic. Still, I left them an opportunity to stumble upon their Wonderland heritage: hundreds of mosaics filled with bizarre and mystical landscapes, and a box full of heirlooms along with a map and a key. I hid everything in the attic for them to find should they go looking for answers.
Maybe they’ll think it’s the ramblings of a senile mind. Or maybe they’ll believe and take that same leap of faith that once led me, and a curious little girl named Alice, to venture into the rabbit hole.
I’ll be there to welcome them, if they do . . .
Leaving my human family behind is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. After faking my death, my final sojourn to the rabbit hole is less of a leap than a fall. Morpheus is there to catch me. He takes my wrinkled and age-freckled hand, helps me inside, and kisses away the tears from the old, frail, white-haired woman I’ve become.
He doesn’t recoil or flinch. He sees past my age, to what I am inside. To the ruler he’s helped shape in my dreams since my childhood: adept at pandemonium and manipulation, tempered by wisdom.
He places the crown on my head and my hair thickens and warms with the pale blond of youth, alive with magic. My bones, skin, and muscles smooth and straighten to toned suppleness. My wings sprout anew.
I am sixteen once more.
“I shall give you time to grieve,” he whispers, but the desire burning in his eyes belies any patience.
Though my heart is heavy, it is also strong and unbreakable, thanks to two men who put my needs above their own.
Morpheus and Wonderland have waited long enough for their queen, for their dream-child. I touch the bejeweled face I’ve come to love so dearly, not in spite of his infuriating tactics, his word wizardry, his tender malice . . . but because of them. “The Red Court needs a king,” is my answer.
We marry, surrounded by a mishmash of creatures: some clothed, others naked, all more bestial than humanoid. They are our subjects, and my heart brims with affection—for their weirdness, for their madness, for their loyalty.
Morpheus and I both wear red: me, a gown of real roses, netting, and lace; and him, a beautiful crimson suit.
When the moment comes, I proudly state, “I do.”
He lifts my hand and presses soft lips to the scars that mar my palm. “I always knew you would,” he teases. Then he smiles, his jewels glistening gold and bright.
Donning our ruby crowns, we fly together into the sky.
“Shall we dance in the clouds, luv?” my King asks.
I remember a vision from a lifetime ago—our souls and bodies bared to a brilliant inferno—and answer, “I want to waltz on the sun.”
And there, in the midst of blinding orange, yellow, and white flames, our forever begins.
First and foremost, gratitude to my family for turning a blind eye to dusty furniture, mountains of laundry, and TV dinners when deadlines loom.
Hugs and a hat tip to my Agent Goddess, Jenny Bent, whose business savvy, diplomacy, and faith in her clients know no bounds.
Thank you to the prestigious Abrams family: Maggie Lehrman, Tamar Brazis, Nicole Sclama, and countless copyeditors and proofreaders for helping me polish each diamond in the rough until they sparkle and shine. Also, gratitude to Laura Mihalick and Morgan Dubin, my in-house publicists; printing press specialists who oversee the pages and special effects; marketing advisors; and everyone who plays a part behind the scenes in the making of the books.
A deep bow to Maria Middleton, designer extraordinaire, who always finds the perfect symbolism for each cover, and to Nathália Suellen, one of the most talented artists I’ve ever encountered. You made me believe in magic by breathing life into my characters via your enchanted artistry.